


Night on a Web

by AzureMagician



Category: Original Work
Genre: (he's humanoid don't worry), (in that order) - Freeform, Exploration, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Giant Spiders, Interspecies Friendship, Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Sex, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, POV Second Person, Penis In Vagina Sex, Size Difference, Slow Burn, Web Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 17:31:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16022636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzureMagician/pseuds/AzureMagician
Summary: An urban explorer finds an abandoned house and ends up with a spider boyfriend. (Twine version available!)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a Twine! But since it was rather linear I decided to convert it to a regular short story. If you'd like to read this in its original format it's on my itch.io (azuremagician.itch.io). The game lets you choose your gender and, um, equipment.

Running an urban exploration blog was fun, at first.

 

Schools, hospitals, shopping malls–if a building can be abandoned, you’ve been in one. You’ve explored dozens of buildings, documenting each experience so anyone in the world can feel like they’ve been inside.

 

Too bad you’ve already been to all the interesting spots around here. You’ve gone out of state several times, so traveling isn’t a problem, but if you want to find anything new you’d have to buy cheap plane tickets. (You don’t feel like spending hundreds for a website.) You haven’t made a new post in weeks.

 

Luckily, you know of a new building to check out. There’s a rumor on your site’s message board of a house a county over that’s been vacant for a decade. One of the members found it while going on a walk.

 

They warned that it’s invested with spiders, though.

 

You’re eager to explore the building, even if the only thing you find is some bugs. While it’s nowhere near as interesting as an amusement park (your best post, in your opinion), you’re sure your followers will appreciate  _ something _ . You hope a house full of spiders isn’t too boring.

 

* * *

 

The dusk sun turns the empty house into an eerie silhouette.

 

The house hides away in a forest, surrounded by red and gold. (You always thought abandoned houses were most beautiful in autumn.) You wonder how someone even found this place, as there’s nothing else but woods around here. You fumble through your bag, grab your camera then leave your car.

 

The house must have looked wonderful before arachnids took it over. Years of neglect have dulled the once pearl white paint, and holes mar its blue roof. Time and weather have broken most of its windows. A turret protrudes from the left side, watching over the yard and the sea of trees.

 

Who would want to abandon such a nice house?

 

As curious as you are, the webs that shroud it make you reconsider going in.

 

Cobwebs aren’t uncommon in vacant buildings–it’s not like anyone’s around to clean the place–but you’ve never seen  _ so many _ before. Thick strands hang from the roof, on the windows, and even cover the ground. You’re worried you’ll get stuck if you try walking through them!

 

You follow the pathway, pass the garden and step onto the porch. (Strange, the flowers look like they were watered recently…) You brush away some webbing that’s caked onto the doorknob before opening the front door. It greets you with a harsh creak, one which would alert the neighbors if there were any.

 

You enter the house, wondering what awaits you.


	2. First Day

Faint light illuminates the living room, allowing you to see the dust and cobwebs that cling to the broken couch and tables. (You find it odd that the previous owners didn’t take their belongings with them.) The furniture and faded floral wallpaper give the room a melancholy air–this was someone’s home.

 

The one piece of furniture that isn’t in shambles is a baby grand piano in the corner. You wonder if it’s still playable; and hey, who doesn’t like messing around with pianos? Your fingers tap at the keys, each note echoing through the quiet old house. It works! Too bad you don’t know any songs.

 

Oh, right, you came here to investigate. You stop playing with the piano and take photos of the room. There’s not much of interest in here, but you have to start off your post somehow. You’re especially proud of how cool you made the piano look.

 

Where to next? There’s a doorway to what looks like a dining room to the left side of the room, a staircase near the middle and a closed door to the right. The door intrigues you the most, so you grab the handle.

 

And it’s locked. Great. You head to the doorway instead.

 

In the middle of the dining room is a long oak table, surrounded by comfy looking oak chairs. A grand crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling; you wonder how it hasn’t dropped yet. There is a fireplace with some picture frames on the left side of the room. You think about how many joyous dinners must have taken place here.

 

You take a closer look at the photos atop the fireplace; they are of an older woman and her two grandchildren. One photo shows the woman, who is younger here, tending to flowers in a garden. Another shows the kids splashing each other in a small pond. The frame in the middle shows all of them together. They look happy.

 

You wonder where all of them are now.

 

There’s not much else here, so you take your pictures then walk to the kitchen.

 

The kitchen is cramped, with a round table in the middle taking up much of the space. A rotten, overpowering stench emanates from the refrigerator. (The mental image of what the food must look like is sickening.) The backyard can be seen through the large windows; the stink is combated somewhat by the fresh air that enters through the broken glass.

 

There’s a door next to the fridge. You turn the doorknob, but it seems to be locked. You shrug, then continue looking around the kitchen. You take your photos, trying your hardest not to gag on the stench. The breeze that washes over you when you step outside is like the breath of life.

 

The backyard is livelier than it should be, considering no one’s here to take care of it. Lilies, daisies and roses make up the family of flowers living here. The garden is painted in bright reds, yellows and blues.

 

Up and to the side there is a small pond surrounded by rocks, its water clear and serene. Your reflection looks back as you gaze into it.

 

The photos you take will add some much needed color to your post.

 

That’s all of the first floor you could get into. Now to the stairs in the living room. They moan as you ascend; no matter how many buildings your explore, you’re always uneasy going up creaky steps. Even if you only fell down them that one time.

 

The second floor is mainly a long hallway. There are small tables covered in various knickknacks here. One that catches your eye is a vase of white lilies. (Okay, you  _ know  _ these have been watered recently. Spooky.) You take some photos here too.

 

The doors lead to two bedrooms, one to the east and one to the west, as well as a bathroom in between. At the eastern end of the hallway is the door to the turret room.

 

You head to the turret room first.

 

The turret room is circular and on the small side. A cream-colored chaise lounge faces the shattered windows, and next to it sits a small table with some books. The books, unlike the rest of the house, are in remarkably good condition. Small bookcases also line the wall. This must have once been a peaceful spot to read.

 

Click, click.

 

Next you go into the first bedroom.

 

This bedroom is modest, with only a bed, a dresser and a writing table and chair. The walls are less scarce, lined with photographs of children and families. The light pouring from the window gives the room a gloomy look.

 

On the desk is some paper, a bottle of ink and a quill. One of the pieces of paper appears to be a letter.

 

_ Dear Poet, _

 

_ I do not have much time left, so I am writing this letter to tell you how much you mean to me. I think of you as one of my sons, even if I did not give birth to you. Though you are different, I tried my best to raise you and give you a good life. _

 

_ I do not know what awaits either of us, but I hope you find happiness after I am gone. I love you. _

 

_ Sincerely, _

_ Grandma _

 

You place the letter back down, feeling guilty for disturbing it.

 

You go to the other bedroom next. This room is almost entirely covered in webs–the rest of the house looks sparkling clean by comparison. There appears to be furniture here, but you can barely see it under the silk. In the middle is an especially giant web that reaches the ceiling. Something about it looks strangely inviting, as if it were a bed after a long day. You shake off this odd thought and continue examining the room, trying not to step on any of the stray strands.

 

There is a small opening between the central web and the wall. Cautiously, you duck underneath the webs and crawl through. Behind the veil is a hole in the floor. As you peer down below you can see several towering bookcases–this must be a library!

 

One of the cases looks close enough to the hole to step onto.

 

Your gut tells you this is a bad idea, but you go with it anyway. You lower one foot into the hole and place it on the case. The first part of your plan is complete. Next, the other steps onto the case–and  **_misses_ ** !

 

_ Fuck _ , was that a stupid mistake.

 

You tumble into the library below.

 

* * *

 

 

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in–

 

Your eyes flash open and you are surprised that you survived your fall. Your relief is soon replaced with terror as you realize you are caught in a giant web. Panicking, you struggle against the silk but soon find yourself even more wrapped up.

 

Being trapped like this is oddly… Sensual? You blush, becoming hotter when you notice your arousal. You never knew that helplessness turned you on, but this is the worst time to find out.

 

Though, you can’t help but wish for someone hot to come in and–

 

No. You snap out of your reverie and chase your perverted thoughts away. You need to focus! This is a life-or-death situation!

 

You suddenly notice movement in the shadows next to you.

 

You can make out a vaguely human shape, but even from your silky prison you can tell something is off. Its movements are slow, at first. It rises from the floor–holy shit, it’s tall!–and moves around what looks like a head.

 

Then its eyes meet yours. All six of them.

 

They’re the first thing you notice on the strange creature’s face. There are two big eyes, then two sets of slightly smaller eyes next to them. They are shiny, round and dark gold, almost like coins. Looking lower, you see a menacing pair of fangs hanging from its mouth.

 

Your gaze moves down, to its chest. You would appreciate the muscular form in front of you if it didn’t belong to a monster. Shaking that thought off, you notice that the creature has  _ six  _ arms. At the end of those long, slender arms are “paws” tipped with shiny, black claws. Its body is covered in blackish-brown fuzz.

 

Finally, it has a bulbous abdomen and a pair of legs that match its arms. You guess that it’s over 6 feet tall.

 

You open your mouth to scream, but noise fails to leave your lungs. The creature is now in front of you, and you’re caught in its trap.

 

It reaches for you with one of its arms.

 

You flinch and snap your eyes shut, waiting for your doom. A long moment passes, and nothing happens. Curious, you open an eye and look at the beast. Its hand is still in front of you, though it seems closer now. Does it want you to grab it?

 

The spider has you at its mercy anyway, so you take its paw. It tugs your arm–first with one hand, then with three–and carefully pulls you out of the web, using its other hands to tear the remaining strands off of you.

 

Did it… Just save you?

 

You’re standing close to the spider. You stare up at its round eyes in confusion, wondering why it hasn’t started eating you. You feel like you should thank it, but you don’t know if it will even understand you.

 

Your words take their time to form, like water dripping from melting ice. “Th… Thank you?”

 

Its eyes seem to light up, and its head bobs up and down, as if nodding excitedly. Does it actually know what you’re saying?

 

You recall the old letter you read.

 

You feel like a fool for wanting to have a conversation with a spider monster, but you can’t help but wonder. “Are you Poet?”

 

The nodding suddenly stops, the creature standing there in silence. It grabs your hand again, this time pulling you in. Its five other arms wrap around you in a tight hug. You’d be alarmed if the embrace wasn’t so warm.

 

You chuckle softly. “That’s a nice name.” The hug becomes tighter.

 

You decide not to tell your followers about this trip.


	3. Second Day

You sit in your car for some time, wondering what the hell you’re doing. Should you really be trying to befriend this creature? Shouldn’t you tell someone about his existence? (Your cryptid obsessed friends would love to hear about this.) Is he really friendly, or is he trying to trick you?

 

Sighing, you start the engine and make your way back to the house.

 

_Two hours later…_

 

You arrive at dusk. You did some research and found out that spiders are more active at night, so you figure Poet must be nocturnal.

 

As you pass by the flowers you notice water dripping from them, like yesterday. You enter the house again, ready to see your new friend.

 

You’re still not sure about this.

 

The door creaks open, and no one’s there. Yesterday that would have been a no-brainer, but now you know the house is still occupied.

 

“Poet!” you cry out. “Where are you?”

 

No answer. Not that you think he’s able to give much of an answer.

 

Since he must water the flowers, you head to the garden.

 

As you go through the dining room and kitchen you hear a faint humming coming from outside. Or what’s supposed to be humming, anyway.

 

You open the door and sure enough, Poet is there tending to the flowers. He’s wearing a straw hat, which barely fits his head. (It’s _impossibly_ adorable.) His carapace shines in the evening light.

 

You shout at him to get his attention, waving when his head turns to face you. The straw hat bobs as he comes over to greet you.

 

“Busy with the garden?” you ask him. No wonder the plants looked so healthy, he was taking care of them.

 

His reply is a soft chirp. (You guess that means yes?) He wipes one of his hands on his brow, dirt and sweat mixing together on his fuzzy face. He pauses, then points to your bag.

 

“Oh, this?” You lift it up. “I keep my stuff in here.”

 

He snatches your bag from your hands and rummages through it. The first item he takes out is your camera. He tilts his head like a curious puppy as he examines the strange object.

 

“It takes pictures,” you explain. He still doesn’t seem to understand. You grab the camera back from him (you have to jump up to reach it) and show him the photos you took yesterday. “Look, here’s the living room. And this is the dining room…” An excited chirp comes from him as he recognizes the rooms in the photos.

 

He pokes into your bag again, this time taking out your notepad. “You use that to write.” You take out the pen. “Like this.”

 

You scribble a small doodle of a spider onto one of the pages. He seems to like it, judging from the trill he makes. He takes the pen from you and draws a stick figure next to your spider.

 

“They’re friends!”

 

“Friends!”

 

No way. Did he just–?

 

“You can write?!”

 

He gives you the same head tilt that he gave the camera, as if he expected you to know his miraculous talent. The pen returns to the paper.

 

“Grandma taught me.”

 

Lovely handwriting, for a spider. At least the two of you can communicate now.

 

“Did she teach you how to garden too?”

 

His fangs slide down his face in what looks like a frown. His eyes turn to the ground as he reminisces.

 

“She taught me many things.”

 

He attempts to give back the notepad and pen with a timid shove.

 

“You can keep it.”

 

His mouth curls up into a wide grin. It’s cute, if you ignore his fangs.

 

“Thank you!

 

Let’s talk inside.”

 

Well, “talk” might be a stretch. You nod. It’s getting colder out here.

 

He disappears into the kitchen.

 

As you walk into the kitchen you peer into the dining room and see Poet waiting for you. You can’t blame him for not wanting to talk in here, considering the rancid stench. He is standing near the table, where his hat sits. He waves three of his arms when he sees you come in.

 

You take a chair and face him. Now that the two of you are here, the pen graces paper again.

 

“Why did you come here?”

 

You were intending to ask _him_ questions, but you suppose you’ll comply. He has your notepad anyway, so it’s not like you can write your findings down. You cup your chin, wondering how you’re going to explain your blog to your arachnid friend.

 

“Uh… I wanted to show off your house?”

 

He does The Tilt again. That quizzical look is so cute on him.

 

“People can see it if I put it online.”

 

He doesn’t seem to like that idea, judging from the sour look on his face. He scribbles his words frantically.

 

“Don’t show anyone!”

 

“Okay, okay! I won’t show anyone.”

 

Can’t blame him for not wanting anyone to know about this place. Most people wouldn’t be as accepting of him as you are. His following words are written much more calmly.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“I take it you’re a loner?”

 

He recoils. That question might have hurt him.

 

“I don’t want to be.”

 

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” You grasp the closest hand and hold on tight.

 

“You have me.”

 

You don’t know what’s driving you to befriend him. Your first instinct after meeting him was to run away screaming, after all. But you feel as if there’s a kind soul buried underneath his horrifying exterior.

 

One of his upper hands comes down and pets your head. His touch is gentle, comforting. You’re sure he appreciates your company.

 

You choose to ask some more questions, to lighten the mood. “So what do you do for fun?”

 

“Read.”

 

“Really!” You never would have thought he was a bookworm. Well, bookspider. Maybe that’s how he got his name? You’d ask, but you don’t want to sadden him again. “What genres do you like?”

 

“Adventure, horror and fantasy.”

 

He hesitates, then adds one more thing.

 

“And romance.”

 

His face looks redder now. Is he blushing?!

 

“You have good taste!”  He still looks bashful, but writes down a ‘thank you.’ “I don’t read much myself, but I like fantasy.”

 

The two of you talk about books for what seems like hours. After one especially excited discussion about your favorite authors, you peer out the window and see it has gotten much darker.

 

“Ah shoot, I should get going.”

 

He lets out a sad chirp.

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll come back tomorrow. I’ll bring some books for you!”

 

He perks up at this. He waves a multi-armed goodbye as you walk out the door.

 

You’ll have to remember to bring some books before you leave tomorrow.


	4. Third Day

Leaves dance through the air, a couple landing on your head as you pass by the trees.

You’ve chosen the first 3 volumes of your favorite fantasy series–Moonlight Elixirs, the tale of a plucky young witch who helps run a potion shop–as the books you’ll give Poet. You hope he likes them; they’ve brought you much joy over the years. He must have gotten tired of the old books in his house ages ago.

As you walk upon the stone pathway once more, you spot a dark figure in the windows of the turret. That must be him. You wave, but he doesn’t seem to notice you.

Shrugging it off, you go in.

When you get to the turret room Poet is sitting on the chaise lounge, book in hand. You’re surprised the chair hasn’t snapped in half, considering how big he is.

“Hey there!”

He jumps, throwing the book to the floor. Oops.

“Sorry about that!” You hurry over and pick the book back up for him. You notice he was reading Frankenstein. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

His eyes are even wider than usual before he realizes it’s you. He places a paw behind his head, his sheepishness showing again. He grabs his notepad and pen, which are lying beside him.

“Sorry.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry!”

You frown, feeling even worse now. Though you can’t help but find it cute when he gets embarrassed…

“Anyway, I have something to show you. You mentioned you like fantasy, so I brought you these.” You take the books out of your bag and hand them over. “I read them a lot as a kid.”

He flips through the first volume, the light of curiosity apparent in his eyes.

“The main character is so cool. I really looked up to her,” you admit. “She helped me out during some of my tougher years.”

He writes with his middle arms while examining the books with his other four. It’s a good thing he has so many.

“Thank you!”

“Don’t mention it.”

“I’m going to enjoy these. You don't know how many times I've had to reread the classics.”

He motions over to Frankenstein on the chaise lounge.

“That’s a good one, though. Read it in high school.”

“It’s one of my favorites, actually.”

His eyes suddenly brighten, as if he witnessed a shooting star.

“I have some books I want to show you!”

He sticks his chest out and places his arms to his sides, proud of his epiphany. You burst out in laughter at how cheesy he looks. He pouts. “Sorry.”

His excitement returns as he takes your hand and rushes out the door.

He takes you to the library. The air smells like old paper. A clock can be heard, its ticks as orderly as marching soldiers. The bookshelves reach the ceiling; webbing reaches the top of the some of the shelves, giving you a clue as to how he reaches the higher books.

Poet drags you over to a table in the middle of the room. Dozens of novels are scattered on it. You spot a few pieces of classic literature, as well as a lot of trash.

One book in the pile catches your eye. Its cover is a soft green, its title (Love and Lawns) in a bold, red font. Below the words is a red rose. You flick through the pages and come across a risqué passage.

Her trowel drops to the ground as he traps her in a sudden embrace. He nibbles at her neck, a small gasp escaping from her lips. He unbuttons her overalls as she unzips his pants. She reaches into his boxers, revealing his–

A shrill squeak comes from behind. He pounces on you and snatches the book from your curious hands. He hides the novel behind him, as if you didn’t already see it.

“Hey, I’m not judging.” You giggle. He’s still tense, his face red.

“I guess your grandma was into sappy romances. Seems to be a grandma thing.”

“Just pretend you didn’t see that, please.”

“Sure, sure.” You turn towards the pile again. “So you’ve read all of these?”

“All of them.”

“Wow,” you poke through the pile, avoiding pulling out any titles that will embarrass him. “You must have had a lot of time on your hands.”

“It gets boring around here.”

He shakes his head.

“Pick out whatever you want.”

“Oh! Uh,” you pick three that don’t look like lurid love stories. “Thank you!”

You examine the books you chose. They’re about a murder mystery on a boat, a boy and his dog (you’re sure that one ends well) and a mirror that grants wishes. You’re not sure if any of them will be good, but you hope he likes your choices.

“Why do you like reading anyway?”

A hand touches his lower lip as he ponders the question.

“The books keep me company.”

You weren’t expecting such a serious answer.

“Books are magic like that,” you say in your most comforting voice. Cheesy as hell, but you want to cheer him up somehow.

“Let's read!”

A small smile returns to his face.

“I like that idea.”

You both sit down, him on his web and you on one of the chairs. (So that’s what the giant web is for.) The two of you read in silence for some time. After you’ve finished five chapters, you look up at the clock and see that it’s 10 PM.

“It’s late. Gotta go.” You sit up and turn to him. He nods, looking a little solemn. “Thanks again for the books.”

He gives a short wave before looking back at his book. Guess he likes it.

You’ll have to tell him how the books are coming along.


	5. Fourth Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the smut, my dudes.

Rain splashes on the windshield as you drive down the forgotten woodland road. The patter of the raindrops is calming, a companion to your thoughts.

You still can’t believe you’re friends with the monster from an old horror movie.

Despite his appearance, he’s so… Nice? How could something so scary looking be so nice? And you can’t help but feel sorry for him. He’s been alone for who knows how long, reading books for company.

Oh no.

You haven’t fallen for him, have you? That would be weird. People don’t have crushes on spider monsters. There’s no way you could–

A bump in the road brings you back to reality.

Maybe you should focus on driving.

You open your umbrella before stepping out of the car. You walk through a puddle on the path, the water splashing on stone. Over the rain you can hear the faint melody of a piano. The gentle tones become clearer as you approach the door.

The music greets you as you enter.

Poet is in the corner of the room, playing on the old piano. The song is Fantasie Impromptu, you believe. You wait for him to finish the song before speaking.

“That was fantastic!”

He turns to you and gives a toothy smile. He takes his trusty notepad from a small table near the piano.

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t realize you were so talented,” you grin. He blushes and shakes his head.

“I’ve had enough time to practice.

Want me to play another?”

“Of course!”

He places his fingers back on the keys and begins another song. The song would normally be difficult, but he uses his arms to play it with ease. You clap after he finishes.

“Bravo!”

He faces you and gives a bow. Then he pounds a fist into a palm, as if he remembered something.

“I have something to show you!”

He leaps off of the piano chair and rushes to the dining room. Guess he’s excited.

You follow him into the kitchen. The basement door is open wide; Poet was in such a hurry that he forgot to close it. (Wasn’t it locked though?)

The damp air clings to you down here. Cardboard boxes are stacked on top of each other, filled with who knows what. You see Poet in the corner of the room, digging through some of the boxes. Each pair of hands is in a different box.

As you walk over to him he yanks something out, apparently finding what he was looking for. He holds it up in the air–it looks like a small, wooden boat.

“What’s that?”

He grins, which would look intimidating on anyone other than him. He picks the notepad off the floor.

“It’s a toy from my childhood. I was looking for it for ages.”

Imagining Poet as a child is weird–did he look like he does now, but smaller? Did he used to not look like a spider? You’d ask, but it feels rude to.

He offers the boat to you, and you take it. The wood is dark brown, and the sail is a pristine white. Despite its age there aren’t any holes in it.

“I used to play in the pond and pretend I was in the ocean. My ship sailed the 7 seas, searching for adventure.”

“How creative!” you laugh. You’re reminded of yourself as a kid, of how you’d imagine yourself on wild adventures while playing. You hand his boat back to him.

“So why are you showing me this?”

“Because I trust you.”

He appears to be blushing again. You’re touched, though you’re wondering how he’s so trusting of someone he only met a few days ago. “Thank you! I trust you too.”

You mean it. He’s been nothing but kind since you two met.

“I’m going to put this upstairs.”

He passes by you, once again in a hurry. You wonder why he seems so embarrassed. Did you say something wrong?

Regardless, you decide to follow him. Once you get to the living room you see the library door is open. (Guess he doesn’t like shutting doors.) Poet is at the table, putting down his toy.

“That's a good spot.”

He turns to you, beaming.

“This is my favorite room, so why not keep my favorite toy here?”

“Makes sense,” you chuckle. “I think it's my favorite too.”

He looks back at his boat, and his smile fades away. He tenses up, as if he’s dreading something. After a moment, he returns his attention to you.

“I want to admit something to you.”

Uh oh.

“What is it?”

He hesitates.

“Do you like me?”

“Of course I like you!”

He shouldn’t have to worry about that. You’re friends. You’ve only known each other for days, but it feels like it's been years.

He hides his reddening face with his hands.

“Thank you!”

But you know that’s not what he really meant to ask.

You go to him and grab a hand, looking up at him with a coy grin.

“Do you ‘like’ me back?”

You didn't think he could get redder, but he does. His arms draw you close, wrapping you in another hug. One of the hands pets your head, playing with your hair.

You guess that means yes.

You stay together for some time; only the clock breaks the silence. He’s the one who pulls away from the embrace, though he holds on to your hands. He walks with you out of the library and up the stairs. You don't question where he’s taking you.

The two of you arrive at his room.

He was confident before, but he seems nervous now that you’re both here. His eyes avoid yours, instead meeting the ground.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

You respond by lifting your shirt. The notepad drops to the floor.

Suddenly his hands are on you, sneaking underneath your bra and into your pants. He rubs against your most sensitive spots, earning a small gasp for his efforts. He smirks, uncharacteristic of his meek nature.

“You’re good at this…”

He bends down and kisses you; must be his way of saying thanks. You lean in, using this as an opportunity to slide your hands over his hips and grab his backside. He squeaks in surprise, and you can’t help but giggle. He retaliates by pinching your nipples. Your yelp turns into a moan.

He continues playing with you as you attempt to undress. You manage to remove your shirt and pants, but he distracts you from your underwear. Once he's satisfied, he finally helps you by lifting up your bra and lifting down your panties at the same time.

He gently pushes you onto the giant web.

With one pair of hands he grabs your wrists and wraps them up in the web. With another he spreads your legs. You approve of your sudden vulnerability; excitement drips down your leg.

He gives you another soft kiss, though this one is fleeting. He licks your neck–his tongue is long and warm. It slithers down to your breasts, where it wraps around a nipple. You lean back to give him better access to your chest, eager for his touch. His mouth explores your body, moving lower until it finds your pussy. Admittedly you're concerned about his fangs, but you trust him.

His motions are timid, at first. A lick here, a kiss there, never lingering. You can tell he’s unsure of himself, of his technique. You grunt, nudging your hips in an effort to get him to continue. Your encouragement works, as his tongue moves faster, twirling around your clit. He dives into your folds, lapping up your nectar as if he found water in a desert. As he digs in he fondles your breasts, playfully tugging and tweaking them.

He pulls back, giving himself a moment to breathe. Both of you are panting.

That’s when you finally notice it.

Looking down, you see… something between his legs. It’s black, bulbous and intimidating. You were so focused on him eating you out that you failed to notice his equipment. Holy shit.

He must know what you’re thinking, as his eyes are filled with an uncertainty that wasn’t there a moment ago. You smile, trying to reassure both him and yourself.

“I can handle it!”

You attempt to give him a thumbs up, but then you remember your hand’s wrapped up.

His worries cast aside, he spreads your folds, sticking a few fingers inside. They play around before leaving, bringing a string of your juice with them. He licks them clean, sucking on each finger.

He presses his dick against you, rubbing it across your entrance.

You rock forward, trying to coax him into you. He pulls away as he is about to enter; you whine in displeasure. His hesitation worries you.

“Is something wrong?”

He shakes his head, averting his eyes. His nervousness from before has returned. The hands that are still on you are trembling.

“You’re doing great, don’t worry!”

You wink, posing as seductively as your position will allow.

He returns his gaze to you, a shy smile gracing his face. You know he’s thanking you. His doubt fades away and is replaced by newfound courage.

He claims you with a tenacious thrust.

Oh god.

You were expecting it, but you’re still shocked at how full you feel. You’re already close to climaxing, and he hasn’t even started moving yet. He gives you a moment to adjust before shifting anew. His pace is slow, deliberate. You can tell he’s trying not to hurt you.

You buck your hips against him, meeting his thrusts. His motions quicken as he gains confidence. Your moans and his trills fill the room, no doubt echoing through the halls. He leans in and kisses you, his passion shown through his tongue. After he parts his mouth is back on your chest, latching onto a nipple and sucking eagerly. His thumb circles around your clit, his rubbing almost frantic. He’s fucking you so fast now that the web is shaking.

You’re the first one to come.

Your vision fills with white as you release. Your essence splatters over him, painting his abdomen. It doesn't take much longer for him to finish as well; he erupts with a valiant cry, filling you with his spider spunk.

Both of you are exhausted.

He pulls out of you, his escape slow and careful. He frees your hands from the web before lying beside you. Your head feels fuzzy. You’re too tired to talk, otherwise you would tell him that was awesome.

You soon drift off to sleep, embraced by dreams of him.


	6. Fifth Day

You’re awakened by Poet's snoring, which is loud enough to make his whole body rumble. You feel the pleasant warmth of his breath on your neck. All of his fuzzy arms are wrapped around you like a soft blanket.

 

The dawn sunlight shines through the silk-covered window and fills the room. As you lie on the web, watching the shadows on the wall, you think about how funny your situation is.

 

If you told the you from a few days ago that she’d befriend a monster, she wouldn’t believe you. If you told her she’d  _ sleep  _ with said monster, she’d think you’re bullshitting.

 

Life is weird, sometimes.

 

You nudge your partner awake.

 

“Sleep well?” you ask with a grin. His response is a tired chirp.

 

“Last night was great.”

 

You place a soft kiss on his cheek. His body warms up as he shuffles underneath your smooch. He chirps in embarrassment but pets your cheek, so he must appreciate it.

 

He rises up, carrying you with him. He places you beside him and picks up the notepad lying on the ground.

 

“Thank you for your company.”

 

You laugh at how formal he is, even after last night.

 

“I’d like to return the favor, if you don’t mind.”

 

You kneel in front of him. He tilts his head in confusion, but you soon make your intentions clear as daylight.

 

You never noticed before, but there’s a slit on his crotch where his prick should be. You lick it, urging the beast out of its cave. His member soon pokes out of its hiding place; up close you can see ridges on the sides. You keep it up, darting your tongue around the tip with the grace of a figure skater. Your mouth is on it in no time, bobbing up and down, taking in as much as you can.

 

Judging from his grunts and hisses, he’s enjoying your work. He grabs your ass; his hands are a surprise, but you don’t let them distract you. He pets your hair, and you feel proud of how well you’re treating him.

 

He roars, letting loose in your mouth, coating it with his cum. He’s spent, panting like he was last night.

 

After he composes himself, he hastily scribbles on his notepad.

 

“Wow.”

 

You smirk.

 

You pick up your clothes and get dressed, proud of yourself. So… what now? You can’t exactly cook him breakfast. You don’t even know what he eats.

 

He pats your shoulder, but his eyes look elsewhere. There he goes again. He holds the notepad to your face, as if trying to hide himself with it.

 

“Would you like to live with me?”

 

A sudden question, but not one you’re against.

 

“I’d love to.”

 

* * *

 

 

_ Two months later… _

 

The house looks nothing like it used to. The holes on the roof have been patched up, the walls have been repainted, and the webs have been cleaned up… Mostly. It was grueling work making the house presentable, but you and Poet did it. You even have electricity and water! (It was difficult hiding Poet away from the workers.)

 

Most of the furniture has been replaced too, so now you both have comfortable spots to read your books. (You kept the chaise lounge though. It fared better than most of the furniture.) You never could have seen the abandoned, forgotten house you once knew becoming a home again.

 

Your days living with Poet have been blissful. You help him garden, discuss books with him, and now you can watch TV together. And of course there’s the fun you two have at night. You weren't sure of letting go of your old life at first, but now you couldn’t be happier.

 

You just wonder how you’re going to invite your parents over to your new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I ever write anything other than spider sex? Who knows!


End file.
